The Majere Project
by Michelle Smith
Summary: Little Raistlin goes more than a little nuts - and all it takes is a knock on the head.
1. It's a Spellbook

CHAPTER ONE  
"It's a spellbook!"  
  
Caramon's eyes flickered open as a cloud blew out of the way and the mid-morning sun streamed through his window, shining onto his face. He yawned and stretched, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.   
It had been a long night at the Majere household - Raistlin had his nightmares again, this time nearly all night long. Gilon had been gone for a few days on a big tree-cutting expedition, and Rosamun was as spacey as ever, so the adults were spared the disturbances.   
However, Caramon, sharing a room with his littler brother, could get no rest in between the moans, mutterings, and occasional screams his sleeping twin voiced amidst his nightmares. Even the bunnies hadn't helped. Sometime before dawn, Caramon had just drifted off to sleep when a large THUMP jolted him out of his dreams. He'd sat up in great alarm, only to find that his little brother was now asleep on the floor - Raistlin had fallen out of bed. Caramon, sighing, pulled the covers over his head, rolled over, and fell asleep - a sleep which had lasted, thankfully, until now, sometime in the middle of the morning.  
Yawning again, Caramon got up and got dressed - all except for one boot. He couldn't find the bootlace.  
He went out into the kitchen and there, at the table, was Raistlin. Caramon blinked. Raistlin was sitting hunched over a book, dressed in a pink floral-pattern shawl (one belonging to Rosamun), a broom leaning up against his chair, a mug of tea steaming next to the book. He also had a rather large, bluish-greenish bruise on his forehead.  
"Raist, are you all right?" he asked.  
"Of course I'm all right, Caramon. I fell out of bed, that's all."  
Caramon shrugged and sat down across from his twin. He groggily inquired as to what his brother was reading.  
Raistlin looked up irritably. "You know very well that I must study my spellbook every morning upon waking."  
A bit surprised, Caramon, knowing a few letters and being curious, examined the book clutched in his brother's hands. After a moment, he declared, "That isn't a spellbook - that's mum's favorite cookbook... and you're holding it upside-down!"  
"No it isn't!" Raistlin growled. "It's not a cookbook, it's a spellbook! And it's not upside-down!"  
"Sure looks like a cookbook to me," Caramon said defensively.  
Raistlin sniffed. "That's because you're not a mage, and I am!"  
"But, Raist... You're not a mage! We're both eight - you can't be a mage!"  
"...Oh, shut up Caramon - you never did understand me!"  
There was an uncomfortable pause. Caramon looked at his brother curiously, then asked, "Why are you wearing Mum's pink shawl?"  
"It's not pink! It's red," Raistlin snapped, "and they aren't a shawl - they're my robes." He glowered at his brother over the top of the book. "My red robes!"  
Caramon blinked. "Okay...Sure, Raist. They're red if you say so." Caramon shrugged a little and swung his legs under the tabled. He sighed, looked around, and suddenly made a face. He sniffed the air, then looked accusingly at his brother. "Uh... Raist?"  
Raistlin looked up impatiently. "What??"  
Caramon grimaced. "What's that smell?"  
"It's my tea," Raistlin hissed from between clenched teeth.  
"Ugh!" Caramon held his nose. "What's in that stuff?"  
Raistlin gestured to a small plate next to his mug on the table, not looking up from his 'spellbook.' Caramon pulled the plate over to him and curiously examined the contents. Mired in a small pool of ominous-looking brown liquid were a piece of orange peel, some willow bark, two tea-leaves left over from yesterday afternoon, a couple of acorns, and, lastly, a soggy, somewhat disintegrated bootlace. Caramon's bootlace.  
Caramon wrinkled his nose. "You put this in something you're drinking?" he asked incredulously.  
Raistlin shrugged and said, simply, "It helps with my cough."  
"Oh." Caramon nodded and thought about that for a moment. A thought eventually dawned on him. "But, Raist, you don't have a cough."  
"That's because I'm drinking my tea!"  
Caramon hunched down in the chair. He sighed, looking injured. After a moment, his stomach rumbled loudly. He looked expectantly at his twin. "Hey, Raist, what's for breakfast?"  
"Do I look like Otik to you? Get your own breakfast - I'm trying to study." Raistlin shot his brother a scathing look and turned back to his book.  
Caramon slid out of his chair and rummaged in the pantry. He pulled out a hunk of bread and a piece of cheese. He wolfed down the cheese, and began on the bread. He walked to the table to stand over his brother, still munching, scattering crumbs across the floor, onto the table, and into the tea.  
Raistlin slammed the book down on the table. "Do you mind?"  
Caramon smiled generously and shook his head. "Nope."  
Rolling his eyes, Raistlin picked up his 'spellbook' and resumed reading, doing his best to ignore his brother. Finally, when Caramon spilled crumbs on his twin's head, Raistlin couldn't take any more. He threw down the book and spun around in the chair to scream, "You're getting crumbs on everything! On the floor, on the table, on me, and on my SPELLBOOK!"  
"Upside-down cookbook," Caramon muttered under his breath.  
"JUST BECAUSE YOU'RE TOO DIMWITTED TO COMPREHEND THE MAGNITUDE OF MY STUDIES, THAT DOES NOT MEAN YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO INSULT MY ART!" Raistlin took a breath and forced himself to lower his voice. "By Lunitari, there must be something in that head of yours - after all, I hear it rattle every time you move! Now, clean up those crumbs and leave me alone!"  
Caramon crossed his arms, pouting. He hunkered down in his chair. "Why don't you clean it up?" he sulked in a wounded tone of voice. "After all, you've already got the broom..."  
Raistlin's normally pale complexion grew a shade paler in fury. "It's not a broom," he said in a very soft, very quiet voice. "It's the Staff of Magius."  
Caramon blinked. "The Staff of Matches?" he asked, gazing at the broom in a cross between wonder and confusion.  
"NO, YOU DOLT! YOU INCOMPETENT FOOL! THE STAFF OF MAGIUS. MAGIUS!! THE MOST POWERFUL MAGICAL ARTIFACT EVER TO GRACE THE FACE OF KRYNN!! NOT THE STAFF OF 'MATCHES-'!" He was abruptly cut off by a violent fit of coughing. He crumpled to the floor, clutching the shawl around him. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a white cloth spotted with what looked suspiciously like raspberry juice. He wiped his mouth, replaced the cloth, and pulled himself to his feet - with the aid of the broom.  
At that moment, there was a knock at the door. "Caramon?" called a voice from the front porch. "Raistlin?"  
Raistlin glared at Caramon. Caramon stared at Raistlin. Finally, Raistlin snapped, "Oh, go get the door already Caramon!"  
Caramon trudged into the living room and pulled open the door. Standing in the doorway, looking very concerned, was Tanis. The half-elf stepped quickly past Caramon, staring around into the house. Caramon closed the door behind him.  
"Are you two all right?" Tanis asked, looking at Caramon. "I came up when I heard shouting. What's going on?"  
"Oh, I'm all right," Caramon said. He dropped his voice to a lower tone, "But I'm getting kinda worried about Raist!"  
Tanis frowned. "Why? What's wrong?"  
Caramon sighed. "Well, I found him sitting in the kitchen, reading an upside-down cookbook-"  
"Spellbook!" came a shout from the other room.  
"-holding a broom-" Caramon continued.  
"Staff!"  
"-drinking this awful tea-"  
"It's for my cough!"  
"-wearing our mother's pink shawl!" Caramon finished.  
"They're my robes! My red robes! RED, like the blood that comes out of my mouth when I cough! Which I need my tea for!"  
Tanis rubbed his chin and sighed. "I have a feeling this is going to be a very long day..."  
  



	2. It's Not Funny

CHAPTER TWO  
"It isn't funny!"  
  
"All right, Raistlin," Tanis said in a tired voice, "Maybe the fifth time's the charm. Let's try this again." He rubbed his eyes and shifted position in the Majere's rickety kitchen chair. The half-elf sat across the table from Raistlin. Caramon had dragged Rosamun's rocker into the kitchen, the twins' mother being gone visiting friends for the afternoon, and the stronger of the Majere boys now sat perched uncomfortably in the chair in a corner of the room.  
Raistlin nodded and sighed impatiently. "Why not?" he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "But, as interesting as this little interview has been," he continued, his voice still laced with venom, "I would appreciate it if you could speed things up a bit, Half-Elven."  
Tanis cringed at the address; no one ever called him by his last name. Not until now, that is. "All right, Raistlin," he said through clenched teeth, "I'll try to hurry." He took a breath to calm himself; not even noon yet, and he was already hanging on his last nerve. Raistlin had a way of unsettling him with every tiny action. "Now then. Who are you?"  
Raistlin considered for a moment, then said, his tone somber and his face completely serious, "I am.... BATMAN!!"  
"What??" Caramon and Tanis squeaked at the same time.  
"Nothing, nevermind," Raistlin said quickly.  
Tanis blinked and shook his head. "Oooookay. Let's try that one more time. What is your name?"  
"Raistlin Majere," Raistlin answered boredly.  
Tanis nodded. "Good. How old are you?"  
Raistlin shrugged and answered, in the same casual tone, "I am twenty-five years of age."  
Tanis pounded a fist on the table. "No, you're not! You're eight!"  
Raistlin arched an eyebrow and smiled wryly. "That's ridiculous, Half-Elven."  
"Is it?" Tanis panted tiredly.  
Raistlin nodded matter-of-factly. "Of course it is. No eight-year-old has ever become a mage."  
Tanis saw an opportunity and jumped at it. "Exactly! So you can't be a wizard!"  
"Of course I can," Raistlin said immediately.  
"How can you say that?" Tanis suppressed an urge to leap from his chair and throttle the child.  
"I've passed the Test, therefore I am a mage." Raist waved a hand at himself. "And, as you can see, I wear the red robes of one of the order of neutrality. RED," he hissed again, with a venomous look at his brother in the corner.  
Tanis heaved another sigh. "Let me get this straight. You say you're a wizard because you passed the Test... and therefore you're twenty-three."  
"Twenty-five," Raistlin corrected, nodding his head agreeably.  
There was a pause. Finally, Tanis asked, in a high, wistful voice, "You're sure you're not younger? You know... Twenty-two... twenty-one... eight?"  
"Well, no child of eight could possibly have passed the Test!" Raistlin said, rolling his eyes. "Show a little common sense, Half-Elven!"  
"I give up!" Tanis shouted. He threw up his hands, stood up, and stalked into the living room.  
Raistlin arched an eyebrow at his brother. "It would seem our friend Tanis has become a bit high-strung, wouldn't it, my brother?" Without waiting for a response, Raistlin went on, musing, "Perhaps this has something to do with his failed romance with our sister."  
Caramon jumped to his feet, eyes wide. "Romance with Kitiara?" he asked incredulously.  
Raistlin frowned at Caramon. "Surely even you, my brother, haven't missed the signs! He was practically stepping on himself to get in our half-sister's favor when we left, and now that we've returned and she is still absent, he's been acting a bit... strange." Raistlin shrugged.   
"We left?" Caramon asked curiously.  
Raistlin nodded.  
"Oh." Caramon paused, then asked, "Where did we go?"  
Raistlin rolled his eyes. "You're getting to be as loony as that elf! 'Where did we go!' Soon you'll be taking up this ridiculous notion that we're eight!" Raistlin giggled at the thought, then abruptly stopped himself. Clearing his throat a few times, he awkwardly began a strange, whispery chuckle that quickly escalated to an eerie, high-pitched cackle that shook the house and drifted out the open windows to hit the entire town full-force.  
Caramon threw his hands over his ears and squeezed his eyes shut against the horrible noise. In the next room, Tanis plugged his sensitive Elven ears and dodged behind the couch, lest the horrible monster making that noise were to come in and devour him. Next door, a baby started wailing, the horses in the stables below set up a terrified whickering, and all over town, the dogs started howling.  
Abruptly, Raistlin stopped. Silence fell over Solace once again.  
Clearing his throat again, Raistlin turned to his brother. "Caramon, you dolt, what are you doing?" he demanded.  
Caramon cautiously moved his hands and opened his eyes. Seeing that the laughing had stopped, still shaken to the core by the horrible sound, Caramon jumped to his brother and enveloped him in a crushing (well, for an eight-year-old, anyway) bear hug. "Raist! I was so worried! What was that? Are you all right now?"  
Raistlin coughed feebly once and tried to push his stronger brother away. It didn't work. Caramon was still latched on to his younger brother, squeezing the air out of him. "Caramon, you're... squishing me!" Raistlin squeaked. His brother didn't hear him. Finally, with no other options left, Raistlin reached up and slapped his brother across the face.  
Caramon fell backwards a few steps. Raistlin crumpled to the floor, writhing and throwing himself about violently, coughing with all his might. The pink shawl flipped up over his head, and soon, the small child was completely entangled in it. Caramon tried to help, but every time he got close, a hand or foot flailed by at breakneck speed, forcing him back again.  
Finally, Raistlin's coughing fit ended. He suddenly sat straight up and tugged the disheveled pink shawl back around him. Dust bunnies from the Majere's unkempt kitchen floor stuck all over the shawl and in Raistlin's hair, making it stick up in funny places. Caramon couldn't help it - as his brother pulled out the raspberry-stained cloth and wiped his mouth, Caramon toppled over on the floor, giggling.  
"It isn't funny!" Raistlin shouted.  
Caramon clutched his sides and rolled over, kicking and screeching with laughter.  
"It's not funny!" Raistlin said again. He stamped a foot and crossed his arms.  
Caramon sat up, panting, tears streaming down his cheeks. "I'm sorry, Raist, but with the pink shawl, and the silly coughing, and your hair... I just couldn't help it!"  
Raistlin slowly turned a deep, ugly shade of red from the tip of his dusty hair all the way down to his toes. Then, Raistlin did something Caramon had rarely ever seen his twin do - Caramon's little brother crumpled into Rosamun's rocking chair and began to cry.  
At that moment, Tanis had collected himself enough to try again. He stepped into the kitchen, just in time to see Raistlin, his twin inches away, back into the rocking chair and begin crying.  
"What did you do to him, Caramon??" Tanis demanded, quickly storming over to the boys.  
"I didn't do anything! I just thought it was funny, is all," Caramon protested, speaking loudly to be heard above his twin's sobs.  
"Just... b-because I killed you during the Test d-doesn't me-mean you have to b-be so mean to me!" Raistlin stuttered out between gasping sobs.  
"I'm sorry, Raist," Caramon said, truly agonized at his twin's distress. "I didn't mean it... Here - maybe I can make you feel better." Caramon formed his hand into the shape of a rabbit, a shadow puppet. He smiled encouragingly and held up his hand in front of his twin's face. "Look, Raist - bunnies!"  
With that, Raistlin screamed, leapt out of his chair, ran away, and locked himself in his bedroom.  
  



	3. Show us Some of Your Magic

CHAPTER THREE  
"Show us some of your magic."  
  
Tanis had called an emergency conference. It was nearing one in the afternoon, and the Majere house had become stifling in the summer heat. Therefore, Tanis had decided to move the meeting to the Inn of the Last Home.  
When Caramon first heard this, he had been mortified. "You aren't going to go anywhere wearing... that... are you, Raist?" he'd said, giving a miserable look to the dusty hair, pink shawl, and broom-staff of his twin.  
"Don't be ridiculous, Caramon!" Raistlin had snapped.  
Caramon breathed a sigh of relief. "Good, because I thought you might-"  
Raistlin went on, ignoring his brother, "Of course I'm going to go out wearing this! After all, these are my red robes, and I, as a red-robed mage, must wear them at all possible times." He gave proud tug at the fringe on the floral-patterned pink shawl.  
Caramon groaned, sighed resignedly, and put on a spare pair of Tanis's boots.  
Now, Tanis, Flint, the young Sturm, and Caramon sat around a table at the Inn of the Last Home, trying to determine what to do. They had, of course, brought Raistlin with them - and he had immediately gone off to sit by himself at a table in the corner. And, of course, they had invited Tas to the meeting - though Flint had been adamantly against this - and the kender had accepted at once. After the first few minutes, however, Tas had grown bored and had migrated to Raistlin's table in the corner. The two had sat there, talking excitedly, and finally they had vanished upstairs. Tanis and the others, of course, hadn't noticed this, and so they all listened attentively while Tanis told his friends about the strange fit that had come over Raistlin.  
"...And now, here we are," Tanis finished tiredly.  
Sturm tilted his head imperiously and crossed his arms. "I knew sending Raistlin to that filthy mage's school would only come to evil," he said righteously.  
Caramon frowned. "Hey! Don't call my brother evil!" he said defensively, hurt on behalf of his twin.  
"I'll call him evil if that's what he is," Sturm shot back angrily.  
Caramon shook his head. "He isn't evil! He's just... confused, that's all."  
Flint snored. "Yeah, if by confused you mean not right in the head!" Caramon sniffled, hunkered down in his chair, and began to pout. Flint sobered. "There now, lad, it'll be all right. He'll come out of it eventually."  
"Or so we hope," Sturm said darkly.  
Tanis made a silencing gesture. "All right, that's enough. We're here to try and help Raistlin, not make fun of him," he said sternly.  
"I'll help him, all right," Sturm muttered loudly. "Help him right down a well!"  
"That's enough!" Tanis half-shouted. The few patrons in the inn this early afternoon looked up to see what the commotion was about. Tanis reddened and lowered his voice. "I've got an idea. Maybe if we can get Raistlin to try to work his magic and he realizes he can't, he'll snap out of it and remember that he isn't a wizard - or bat-whatever-it-is," he finished.  
The rest of the group nodded their agreement, Sturm a bit more reluctantly than the others. As one, they turned to look at Caramon.  
Caramon sighed. "All right, fine," he said resignedly. He got up and trooped to the bottom of the stairs. "Raistlin, could you come down here for a second?" he called up loudly.  
The companions couldn't see Raistlin from their table, but they could see Caramon - and the shocked look on his face - clearly. Mouth slightly open in surprise, Caramon trooped back to the table.  
Following Caramon was Tas, in the strangest outfit any of the friends had ever seen. The kender stumbled along behind Caramon wearing a grossly-too-big black dress - a faded affair of worn velvet, faded lace, and so many patches in so many clashing shades of black, gray, and brown that it had come to look something like a misguided patchwork quilt. Tas had one of the sleeves pulled up above his head, draped across his topknot dramatically, and, to his credit, the kender only tripped twice coming down the stairs and once coming across the room to meet his friends.  
Caramon arrived at the table first, eyes as big around as saucers. "This is...." he trailed off, finishing with something no one could quite understand.  
"What was that, Caramon?" Tanis asked with a half-frown.  
Caramon swallowed and tried again. "This is Talamar the Dark, appendix to the Arch-maggot Raistlin Majere," he muttered, staring at his toes.  
Flint burst out laughing. "Talamar the Dark! That's a good one!" He slapped his knees in mirth, his face turning a merry shade of red.  
Sturm frowned darkly. "The mage-child has infected the kender," he said mournfully. "Now we'll have to throw them both down the well." The young Solamnic didn't seem overly distressed at the thought.  
Tanis gave Tas a strange look. "Appendix to a what-maggot?"  
Tas stamped his foot and crossed his arms, fixing the half-elf with his best scowl. "My Shelfey says-"  
Tanis cut him off. "Your what?"  
"Shelfey!" Tas said impatiently. "You know, Shelfey - the Elven word for master!"  
Tanis put a hand over his mouth to hide a grin. "That's Shalafi, Tas."  
"Oh." The kender shrugged, then suddenly remembered he was supposed to be scowling. He put on his menacing look again. "Now then. My name is Talamar the Dark, the Apprentice, Caramon - an appendix is a useless little thing somewhere in your stomach, I think - the Apprentice of the Archmagus Raistlin Majere. I have come on behalf of the Shelfey to serve as a messenger." Tas broke into a grin. "I've never been anybody's apprentice before. Isn't it wonderful, Tanis? Raistlin says he'll teach me how to turn people into crickets and cast fireballs and do all kinds of other wonderful magic!"  
Suddenly, though none of the companions had seen him arrive, Raistlin was standing behind Tas, the pink shawl draped over his head, his hands behind his back. The kender, busy talking, didn't seem to notice.  
"And once I'm done being an apprentice, Raistlin says that fat innkeepers will bow to me," -at this phrase, Raistlin stiffened and ground his teeth a bit in frustration- "and I can have his Staff of Magius for a little while, and even though it looks like a broom - a kind of beat up, dusty old broom, now that I think about it - Raistlin says it has all kinds of really neat powers and spells and things, and-"  
Raistlin cleared his throat.  
The kender half-jumped out of his dress. He spun around and then, seeing who it was, immediately bowed. "I'm supposed to bow," he whispered loudly to Tanis over his shoulder, "because that's what apprentices do to their Shelfeys."  
Raistlin took a step toward the kender, suddenly very menacing in the pink floral-pattern shawl. "You, apprentice, have been spying on me!" he said in a very soft, very dangerous voice.  
Tas shook his head wildly. "No I haven't! Honest!"  
"Then what were you doing telling them about your training?" Raistlin demanded, backing the kender away from the table, into a corner.  
"Aw, come on, Raistlin! I wasn't telling them anything really important - and besides, they're your friends! They wouldn't do anything to hurt you."  
Raistlin paused a moment in contemplation.   
Caramon, Tanis, and Flint all held their breaths. Sturm rolled his eyes.  
"Even now, the fools plot against me," Raistlin said finally. "No, apprentice, you must pay the price. For conspiring against me... for spying... for being a traitor... you will PAY!"  
"No!" Caramon shouted, diving off his chair towards his twin, but even as he flew through the air, he realized he was too late. His brother pulled the object he'd had concealed behind his back, raised it over the kender, gave his apprentice a menacing glare and...  
...upended somebody's mug of ale over the kender's head, just as Caramon, skidding across the slick stone floor head-first, careened into him. The twins went flying into a wall, Tas got sopping wet, and Flint bruised himself in the ribs from falling out of his stool laughing. In the end, however, the ale mug - shattered when Caramon flew into his brother - was the only casualty.  
Once they had untangled the twins, Tanis bodily carried Raistlin back to the table, sat him down, and, threatening him sternly, went to dry off the kender. Tas gratefully accepted a towel and, after squeezing most of the ale out of his topknot, took a seat next to Tanis. Flint, finally recovering from his laughing fit, resumed his seat also. Sturm had never stood up in the first place, so Caramon, looking even more profoundly miserable than before, was the last to sit down.  
"Why didn't you make me your apprentice?" Caramon asked his brother in a wounded tone.  
"Because, Caramon, you are a cloth-headed ignoramus with the insignificantly miniscule arcane abilities of a rather dim-witted, unintelligent specimen of spore mold!" Raistlin said, pulling the pink shawl a little lower over his face.  
Caramon frowned, trying to puzzle out what his brother had said to him. Flint patted the boy on the shoulder. "There now, lad, don't worry about it," the dwarf said consolingly. "It doesn't look like it'd be much fun to be his apprentice, anyway. Just look at Tas, sopping wet."  
Tas gave an enigmatic smile and shrugged. "It was the price I had to pay for my magic," he said cheerfully, squeezing the last few drops from the tip of his topknot.  
Raistlin shot Tas a deadly glare. "Quit stealing my lines!  
Tanis decided he had best interrupt before Tas got another ale-mug emptied over his head. "Let's get back to the reason we asked Raistlin down here in the first place," he said hurriedly. The others quieted. "Now then. Raistlin, we want to see..." Tanis suddenly trailed off, his mouth slightly open, staring with his eyes wide open. Slowly, the others turned to look at Raistlin, following Tanis's gaze.  
Raistlin had pulled the shawl back off his head, revealing what he and Tas had been so occupied with upstairs. His entire face, neck, and chest - where it was exposed - were coated in a thin layer of grease and gold paint, giving his skin an oily, golden sheen. His hair has been covered in flour; every time he moved, dust rose from his white hair. Finally, to top it all off, Raistlin launched into another one of his coughing fits, throwing himself to the floor with such abandon this time that a small cloud of flour dust rose all around him.  
When the dust settled, Raistlin picked himself up and, coldly returning the stares of several other nervous-looking inn patrons, calmly resumed his seat.  
Caramon, Tanis, and Flint stared at Raistlin, gaping, mouths hanging open. Sturm crossed his arms boredly. Tas shrugged matter-of-factly. "It's his cough," he explained.  
Raistlin nodded. "Thank you, apprentice."  
Sturm sighed. "All right, that's it. I say we turn the kender - he's bound to have stolen something by now - over to the local authorities, Raistlin over to the local mages, and we go home and somebody else deal with these two loonies!"  
Flint jabbed Sturm in the ribs and hissed at him to be quiet.  
Tanis took over command again. "Nobody's going anywhere until we get this settled," he said firmly. Turning to Raistlin, attempting to calm his voice, he went on, "Now then, Raistlin, why don't you show us some of your magic? Maybe a light spell or... something," he finished lamely. Flint frowned at him. Tanis shrugged.  
Raistlin's eyes flared. He gestured dismissively with one hand - also painted gold, just like his face - and sneered. "A light spell?" he said incredulously. "A light spell?" He broke into that weird, high-pitched, screeching laughter again.  
Every occupant of the inn, to a man, pitched himself under his table and clamped his hands over his ears. Somewhere, a horse whickered loudly and a baby began to cry. The dogs of Solace took up their howling again.  
Abruptly, Raistlin stopped laughing. Everyone came out from under their tables, and the dogs outside went quiet again.  
"Wow!" Tas whispered reverently.  
"What was that?" Flint said, clutching at his chest, panting.  
The kender readjusted the folds of the voluminous black dress in order to see better. "That was the Shelfey!" he declared cheerfully.  
Flint just sighed and nodded. "I figured as much."  



	4. An avocado

CHAPTER FOUR  
"An avocado."  
  
Raistlin rubbed his hands together, pushing up the shawl as though he were pushing up the sleeves of his robes. Smiling a twisted smile made even more sinister by the fact that the golden paint had started to smear, Raistlin nodded to himself. "I'm ready, he announced."  
Flint and Tanis exchanged glances. Sturm looked around boredly, wondering whether he'd have time for sword practice that afternoon. Tas leaned forward, chin in his hands, watching Raistlin eagerly.  
Raistlin reached into a pocket and produced a crystal wine glass, placing it upside-down on the table.  
"Probably stole it," Sturm muttered.  
Flint elbowed him in the ribs.  
Raistlin, ignoring the Solamnic and the dwarf, reached into another pocket and pulled out a small, round, wrinkly object a little bigger than his hand. With respectful reverence, he very carefully set the object down on top of the upended wine glass. He stood back, staring at it reverently. "Behold!" Raistlin cried, smirking up at his friends.  
"What are we 'beholding'?" Flint cautiously whispered to Tanis.  
Tanis shrugged. "Looks like an avocado to me," he whispered back.  
Caramon, overhearing the whispered conversation, broke into a frown. "Come on, Raist!" he whined. "This is no time for guacamole!"  
Tas giggled.  
"Silence!" Raistlin hissed. "This isn't an avocado," he declared importantly.  
"What is it, then?" Flint asked, regarding the avocado warily.  
Raistlin rolled his eyes. "It is, of course, the extremely powerful, terrible, mystical, magical..." Raistlin paused for effect, then said, triumphantly, "dragon orb!" He opened his mouth and leaned back, a strange look on his face.  
"Quick!" Tanis shouted. "Stop him before he laughs again!"  
The dwarf, elf, kender, and the two boys, as one, leapt over the table and tackled Raistlin, each slapping a hand over his mouth.  
"Don't laugh!" the all shouted at the same time.  
Raistlin shook his head to say that he wouldn't.  
"Promise?" Caramon demanded.  
Raistlin nodded.   
They let him go.  
Raistlin stood back up, smoothed back his flour-caked hair, tugged at the pink shawl, and looked around suspiciously. "Where was I...? Oh, yes! The dragon orb!" he declared.  
"That's not a dragon orb," Caramon disagreed.  
"Yes it is!" Raistlin insisted.  
Caramon crossed his arms. "Well, if you're telling me that that's a dragon orb, then I had a dragon orb for dinner last night!"  
Sturm snickered. Flint elbowed him in the ribs.  
"Don't be stupid, Caramon," Raistlin said acerbically. "That was not a dragon orb."  
"What was it, then?" Caramon demanded.  
"An avocado," Tanis sighed.  
Raistlin nodded his head. "An avocado."  
"Oh." Caramon blinked, started to say something, stopped, opened his mouth, closed it, frowned, and sighed. "Okay, Raist. If you say so."  
"So... what does this dragon orb do, exactly, Raistlin?" Tanis questioned carefully.  
"It summons a dragon, Half-Elven," Raistlin said impatiently. "Why did you think it's called a dragon orb?"  
"If that avocado is a dragon orb, the lad should try to summon a dragon - we'll end up with a watermelon," Flint rumbled, grinning.  
"I heard that!"  
"Sorry."  
Raistlin glared around the table to make sure he had everyone's attention. Then, placing his hands very carefully over the avocado, he closed his eyes and began to chant.  
The companions listened closely, trying to understand the words of magic.  
"Teaspoonari?" Flint repeated curiously.  
"Sugarack?" Tanis said with a frown.  
"Flowers?" Sturm asked incredulously.  
"It's mum's recipe for brownies!" Caramon shouted gleefully.  
Tas shook his head in admiration. "He does magic and cooks at the same time. What a Shelfey!"  
After a moment, Raistlin finished his spell. He raised one hand and, with an air of great significance, tapped three times on the avocado. "Arise," he commanded, opening his eyes.  
Nothing happened.  
Raistlin leaned down to stare at the avocado. Shrugging, he stood back up and tapped the avocado again three times. "Arise!" he said again, a little louder this time.  
The avocado did not respond.  
Raistlin frowned. He picked up the avocado and shook it next to his ear, shook his head, and put it back down. He tapped on it again. "Arise! Arise! Hmm.... Arise! ...Oh, come on, arise already, would you?? Arise you stupid thing!" He tapped on the avocado a little harder.  
"Hey, come on Raist, be careful!" Caramon said. "It won't be any good to eat if you go and bruise it, you know."  
Raistlin stared daggers at his brother.  
Caramon shrugged. "Nobody likes a bruised avocado," he said helpfully.  
Raistlin picked up the avocado and threw it at his brother.  
Caramon ducked, and some unlucky man at the table next to theirs received a dragon orb square in the face.  
"Sorry," Tanis muttered to the man, turning red.  
Sturm rolled his eyes. "That wasn't much of a magic show. What's next - wait, don't tell me. The broom lights up and flies, right?"  
Raistlin's smile returned and his eyes lit up. "Actually, the Staff can-"  
The companions never learned exactly what the staff was capable of, however, because at that very moment, an ale mug, launched from the direction in which the avocado had been thrown, flew out of the air and directly into Raistlin's forehead.  



	5. Epilogue

CHAPTER FIVE  
The Prologue  
  
Raistlin and Caramon sat on their front porch, watching the sun set through the leaves of the Vallenwoods. They had sat in awkward silence for more than five minutes when, finally, Caramon spoke up.  
"Sure is a pretty sunset," he volunteered. "I mean, I haven't seen a sky that color in a long time, all red and gold with the clouds. You know, Raist, that cloud is almost the same color you are..." Caramon trailed off at the menacing look his twin gave him.  
"Shut up, Caramon," Raistlin snapped.  
Caramon sniffled defensively. "Come on, Raist - it isn't that bad."  
Raistlin crossed his arms. "You're not the one stuck looking like this!"  
Caramon patted his brother on the arm comfortingly. "Well, look on the bright side, Raist - the flour washed off pretty well... and I'm sure the paint will wear off eventually."  
Raistlin snorted. "Caramon, you aren't helping."  
"At least not very many people saw you walking around wearing that pink shawl... As a matter of fact, as soon as Flint stops laughing, I'm sure nobody'll ever talk about it at all," Caramon tried cheerfully.  
"It isn't fair," Raistlin complained, trying his best to ignore his brother's last attempt to console him. "If it weren't for that awful costume I was wearing when I woke up on the floor at the inn, I wouldn't have believed any of it was true." He sighed in resignation. "I suppose I'll have to take your word for it," he said, gingerly rubbing the two large bruises on his forehead.  
Caramon grinned a little at his brother. "You should have seen yourself, Raist - trying to cast spells with mum's cookbook." He snickered. "You were pretty silly looking."  
Raistlin rolled his eyes. "Enough. Go get me a cold cloth for my head, Caramon."  
Caramon nodded and jumped up to get the cloth for his brother, but he paused and turned around in the doorway. "Um... Raist?"  
"Yes, my brother?"  
Caramon fidgeted uncomfortably before asking, "Raist, are you... um... afraid of bunnies?"  
Raistlin stiffened suddenly, and slowly, refusing to look at his brother, replied, "I don't want to talk about it."  
Caramon smiled a little to himself. "Whatever you say, Raist."  
  
1  
  
  



End file.
